Matt Murdock Shorts

Describe Yourself

Matt got home from Mass about 20 minutes ago, stripping out of his suit to join you back in bed. You got up with him this morning to have coffee and eat, but you must have gone back after he left. As he laid down next to you, you shuffled closer in your sleep. His heart clenches at the gesture, knowing that as you seek him out now, even in your sleep, he equals safety and warmth. He buries a hand in your hair, running gentle strokes along your head, careful not to wake you. It wasn't long before he noticed your breathing change as you woke up anyway. When he felt your eyelashes against his chest, he murmured a good morning.

"Hey." You didn't bother moving yet. "How was Mass?"

"Very Catholic."

"Mmm." You place a kiss to his chest. "You deserve to relax for the rest of the day, then."

He laughs. "Yeah, that was the plan."

"Good."

Matt feels your arm wind around his waist and is sure he found heaven in this bed. Not an hour back from church and he's already blaspheming. He can't bring himself to care. Not with your body pressed against his, listening as you let yourself come slowly back into the world from the safety of his embrace. Today is one of those days that he wishes he could see. Most of the time, he doesn't think about it. He's been functioning in the world as a blind man with special abilities for long enough that this is his perception of the world now. It doesn't bother him. That's why it has taken so long for him to ask this. Make no apologies for what you lack. It's not an apology, but he's never had this conversation without getting one from the other person. The last thing he wants is pity and you know that. You know him. So, he realizes that he actually feels comfortable asking this now.

"Can you tell me what you look like?" There's a long enough pause that he almost takes it back. Almost. But he asked because he trusts you to handle it well, so he gives you time to think.

The question makes you want to crawl in a hole. You settle for curling further into Matt. You've always hated being the center of attention, even now, alone with Matt. But you know him well enough to know that the question wasn't an easy one for him to ask, so you try to meet him in the middle. "You feel my face whenever you have the opportunity. That doesn't give you the best picture you can get?"

"It helps. I can feel the shape of your face, your cheekbones, and jawline, the shape of your lips and eyes. I can feel the slope of your nose, the texture of your hair, the way it changes depending on the product you've been using or if you've colored it. I can pick up clues based on what you've told me about your race, or when I hear other people compliment you. I still can't see you."

"Well, that's a good thing for me." You try to laugh off your self-deprecating comment, but he catches it.

That's where the hesitation is coming from. He should've known. "Well, I don't think anything I have to say will change how you feel about that. I'm not exactly in a position to comment on your looks. What I can tell you is: The image I have in my head only makes me want to know more. It's like I have a basic outline and I need details. It's not like I can ask anyone else without triggering waves of pity. Even Foggy, I can't just ask him what color my girlfriend's eyes are without him feeling bad for me."

You sigh.

He jostles you a bit in his arms. "Come on. Forget about whatever negative opinions you have about yourself and give me the cold, hard, facts. I need information."

He's in rare form today. Even if he's trying to hide it with a layer of humor, it's like he's forcing himself to ask because if he didn't, he'd back out and never ask for anything like this again. You take it as the stepping stone to good communication that it is. "Alright, alright, I'll do it."